Forbidden Comfort
by C7
Summary: A Chris and Mary story.
1. Chapter 1

Forbidden Comfort

By

C7

"Damn it, Chris, lay still." Shooting Larabee an impatient glare, Nathan Jackson stopped his attempt to dig the bullet out of Chris's thigh. "I know this hurts like hell, but I can't get hold of the bullet if you keep movin'."

Grabbing the headboard of the bed a little tighter, Chris tried to concentrate on anything but the sharp, biting pain that darted down his limb. If Nathan didn't get the bullet out soon, he would tell him to leave it _'the hell'_ in there. He clenched his teeth in silent agony as he felt the healer's instrument once again enter broken flesh. Swallowing a tormented groan, he closed his eyes tight and tried to focus on keeping the leg as motionless as possible.

"There!" Nathan's voice echoed with triumph just as Chris experienced a glorious relief from the excruciating pain.

Opening his eyes, he watched his doctor straighten. Nathan held the forceps at eye level and examined the bullet between the jaws of the instrument. "Looks like a 44."

"Yup, that's what he used… crazy fool. This time he's gone too far." Chris relaxed his hold on the bed, the searing pain in his leg dulling to a throbbing ache. "I'm gonna have to bring him in and do _somethin'_ with him."

The pain continued to pulse through Chris's thigh as a sigh of frustration passed his lips. Jeremiah Parker was starting to become a real pain in the...leg. The stubborn ol' coot was going to _have_ to start listening to reason. The land _did_ belong to him, but he couldn't go around shooting anyone who came near it. There was no need. Even though he refused to believe it, the mine he was staked out on no longer had silver in it. It was a well-known fact that the ground had been played out more than ten years ago. However, Jeremiah, who, with unfounded optimism, bought it well past its prime, nonetheless, protected his property like it was the United States mint. He was sure everyone who set foot on or near the place was out to steal his non-existent fortune.

"Well, _you _ain't gonna be bringin' nobody in anytime soon." Nathan dropped the bloody piece of iron into a small tin cup sitting on the bedside table. "It's gonna take you several days to get back on your feet. You won't be doin' any ridin' for a while."

"It won't take me long to get out of this bed. Now that the bullet's out, I-"

"Now that the bullet's out," Nathan interrupted his headstrong charge. "You'll need a few days rest to give the wound time to heal proper. That means stayin' in bed. Buck and Vin can go get him. He's partial to Buck. They shouldn't have too much trouble." Looking Chris square in the eye, the healer's eyebrows rose as he continued. "Why'd you go out there, anyway? You know how the old cuss is. He especially don't take to you."

"Hell, I was only checkin' on him!" A stab of pain darted down Chris' leg as he raised himself up on his elbows in an effort to defend the less-than-intelligent action. Wincing against the sharp discomfort, he worked to rein in the sudden irritation that taunted him. Lowering his heated voice to a more even level, he explained. "Hadn't seen him in town for nearly a month, so on my way in from the cabin, I thought I'd ride by and make sure he was okay. Reckon I should of known better, but I didn't think he'd take a shot at me. Good thing he can't hit the broad side of a barn. If he could, I'd be dead. Near as I could tell he was aimin' at my head." Some of the angry tension eased as Chris allowed himself to relax back into the pillow, his voice dropping to a disgusted mumble. "I feel like a damn fool."

With a sympathetic grin, Nathan shook his head. "You were only tryin' to help, Chris, nothin' foolish about that. Now try and lay still while I finish gettin' you fixed up." Setting the forceps down next to the cup, the former slave picked up a towel and dipped it into a bowl of steamy water. As he began cleaning the hole left by the bullet, the sting of contact on Chris' raw skin stifled the protest Larabee was about to make; a sharp hiss of discomfort replacing his impatient words.

"Sorry, Chris." Nathan stopped long enough to look up into the pain-distorted features of his patient. "But I need to get this wound good and clean. Here…" He handed the gunman a half-empty whiskey bottle. "Take another drink of this. And be glad that I'm not gonna have to put any stitches in you."

Pulling one hand from the headboard, Chris took the offered bottle and brought it to his lips, thankful for the familiar, numbing sensation as the liquid fire ran down his throat.

_Stitches!_ A foreboding shudder rushed through him as he remembered the last time he'd been sown up. The scar from the knife wound on his side would always be an unpleasant reminder of his time in Jericho. The gunman couldn't decide which was worse-the pain of having a bullet dug out of torn flesh or the pain of having a needle and thread pushed through torn flesh. He'd experienced both one too many times. Having to endure only one this time around was a blessing not taken lightly.

Larabee took yet another drink from the bottle as Nathan resumed the chore of cleaning the wound. When he was satisfied that the area was clean enough, the healer sprinkled a liberal amount of sulfa powder over the hole and went about the task of bandaging the leg.

Chris continued to indulge in the whiskey until Nathan straightened once again and cast him a smile. "Okay, that should do it."

Just as the statement left Nathan's lips, a rapid knocking echoed from the door.

"Buck, can't you show a little patience?" the healer scolded as he turned toward the urgent summons.

"It isn't Buck, Nathan." The concerned voice of Mary Travis floated from the hallway. "I... I heard that Mister Larabee had been hurt. I... I just wanted to check on him? How bad is he? Is there anything I can do?"

Hearing Mary's anxious questions did any number of things to Chris' composure, not the least of which was startle him.

_What the hell is she doin' here? _ The silent recoil came swiftly, and without thought, as the shocked surprise grabbed him. Why her concern should astonish him, he had no idea. He'd been shot, after all. They were friends. Her worry was only natural. An impatient unease pursed his lips. Yes... it was nothing more than natural. Why was it so much easier to believe she didn't care?

With a deep sigh, he shrugged off the telling question, a less probing concern taking over. He was in no condition to be receiving female visitors, and most particularly not _this_ female visitor. Pulling the blanket over his semi-naked body, he pinned Nathan with a hard glare, silently forbidding any possibility of an intrusion.

But the healer refused to be intimidated, and with a casual shrug and a mischievous smile, he quietly dismissed Larabee's stony ill ease. Playfully clearing his throat, Nathan once again turned in the direction of the door, offering Chris a reprieve when he finally answered Mrs. Travis. "Ah... no, ma'am. Thank you, but I've got the wound cleaned and dressed. Nothin' left now but to let Chris get some rest."

"He's all right then?" The worry faded some as she asked for the reassurance.

Nathan didn't answer right away, and as his hesitation lengthened, a determined resolution set his jaw. Then, as if suddenly deciding that a continued conversation through a closed door was a little on the ridiculous side, he shook his head and strode across the room. Before Chris had the chance to voice his objection, Jackson opened the door and came face to face with Mary Travis, cheerfully answering her question. "Yes, ma'am. He's gonna be fine in a few days."

Although Nathan stood directly in front of Mary, completely blocking her view of the room, Chris felt the need to pull the blanket higher around his waist, a self-conscious embarrassment prompting the move. He still had his shirt on, but his pants were slung over a near-by chair. Looking down at his legs, he checked to make sure they were covered. All he had on were his long-johns, and the right leg was ripped clean up to his crotch, as Nathan needed the area around the bullet wound cleared so he could do what needed to be done.

"You're sure?"

A stubborn fear lingered in the gentle voice, and Chris again marveled at the tender care he sensed in her insistence for another guarantee. His grip on the whisky bottle tightened when he acknowledged the warmth, a whisper of panic darting through his mind. He wondered at his reaction. How could such a sweet recognition conjure such a powerful misgiving?

"See for yourself." The invitation held a subdued chuckle as Nathan stepped back from the door and encouraged Mary's entrance with a wave of his hand.

Chris locked disbelieving eyes on his smiling friend, who seemed all but oblivious to his profound dismay, before his attention was irresistibly drawn to the pale beauty now gracing the room. His grip on the bottle tightened further still as a dull, forbidden need suddenly teased him. Her affect was something close to a violent shudder as that thick need flowed through his body, bathing every muscle in a warm tension. Deeply, it seeped into his mind… saturated his soul. He couldn't control it anymore, and he sure as hell couldn't ignore it, his body craving something he knew to be impossible. Even at this awkward moment, he didn't seem to be immune, and he cursed the miserable weakness. Mary Travis' life would be much safer with him on its outskirts, but that one simple truth seemed to elude him more and more these days.

A few determined steps brought her only a foot or two from the bed. The eyes that searched his face held the worry he'd heard in her voice. But as they slowly journeyed over his features, that concern appeared to fade, the ridged frown softening when she finally seemed to believe her own eyes. "I'm glad to see that you're all right, Mister Larabee. I was worried when I heard that you'd been shot."

Chris noticed, but chose not to dwell on, the profound, almost anxious, relief he sensed in Mary as she made the admission. Choosing instead to simply return her subtle smile as he pulled himself up straighter in the bed, squelching a wince when the movement heightened the throb in his leg. "No need to worry, ma'am. Just a flesh wound."

He felt rather than saw Nathan's disapproving reaction to the understatement, but Chris didn't give it a second thought, the need to ease Mary's mind taking precedence over an unvarnished truth. "Jeremiah ain't much of a shot."

"Isn't he, though?" Mary's eyebrows rose with the skeptical question, her doubtful eyes moving to settle on Nathan.

The pointed look caused the former slave to shift his weight nervously from one foot to the other, a sheepish smirk tugging at his mouth before he finally found his voice. "Well, least ways, he didn't hit any vital organs. Chris lost a little blood, but he'll be fine in a few days."

The gunman watched the shadow of a frown slip across Mary's face, the words, for a brief moment, seeming to have the opposite effect of what was intended. It appeared as if she didn't quite believe what Nathan was telling her.

A loud knock on the door didn't allow for any further scrutiny of the situation as the blustery entrance of Buck Wilmington followed. Stopping in the doorway, Buck gave Nathan and Mary the benefit of his happy expression before centering it on Chris. "Well, looks like you're gonna live. It's a good thing. I just told everybody you were. Can't have you makin' a liar out of me."

The broad smile beaming out from under the mustache was contagious, and Chris felt it pull at one corner of his mouth. "Nope, can't have that. Gotta keep you honest as much as we can. Lord knows, you need all the help you can get."

The wide grin faded with the friendly jab as Buck rose to the bait. "Now just what the he-" His eyes darted to Mary for just a second as he appeared to re-think his reply. "What the heck do you mean by that?"

Chris's smile widened, but he kept his mouth shut. He wasn't about to get into a history of Buck's indiscretions with Mary in the room.

As if sensing the damper she was putting on the conversation, the widow was the next to speak as the light of amusement brightened her eyes. "Well, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen. I have to get back to the paper." She looked at Nathan. "If you need my help in any way, please let me know." Her attention then fell back to Chris. The detachment tainting her voice didn't quite make it to her eyes, her profound relief and concern still lingering in the smoky depths. And once again, Chris felt himself unwillingly drawn to that concern, awed by it, thankful for it. "I hope your recovery is a quick one, Mister Larabee. Gentlemen."

"Ma'am." The acknowledgment came in unison.

With a bow of her head, Mary made her departure.

When the door closed behind her, Buck turned a playful smirk in Chris's direction. "Should've known I'd find the pretty Miz Travis up here at your bedside. But does she always have to be so damn formal? It ain't like it's doin' her any good. It's as plain as the nose on her face." Shaking his head with disapproving slowness, Buck's smile dissolved into an uncharacteristic seriousness. "When are you two gonna give it up and admit how you feel about each other?"

The question would have knocked Chris off his feet, if he hadn't already been lying down. He felt as if he'd just been hit with a bucket full of icy water, the sudden shock paralyzing him briefly as he tried to digest the last few seconds of the one-sided conversation. Was his struggle so close to the surface that _everyone_ could see it? He hadn't thought so, until now. Did the others see the same thing? Hell, he hoped not. Buck was one thing. And he supposed he could even take Vin's knowing about his growing weakness. The rest of the men, however, were another matter altogether. No. They _couldn't_ know.

The more Chris thought about it, the madder he got. It was none of Buck's damn business how they felt.. _if_ they felt. It's was _nobody's_ business, as a matter of fact. The frown on his face grew deeper by the second as he felt his eyes harden with the necessity of an angry denial. It was the only form of protection he had left, although he wasn't sure how much longer it was going to serve his purpose, as almost daily he felt his resolve slowing slipping away.

Easily reading Larabee's darkening expression, Buck held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, backing down from the obviously touchy subject. "All right, Chris. I'll let it go. But you two ain't foolin' anybody." Lazily, he crossed his arms over his chest, the sly grin returning. "Now, what's all this foolishness between you and Jeremiah Parker?"

With a resigned sigh, Chris felt some of the heated anger drain away as he prepared himself for the ribbing he was about to receive, and probably deserved. But as he listened to Buck's good-natured scolding, Mary remained a dull worry hovering on the edge of his mind.

End Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The clean scent of lavender filled his nostrils as he lay on the edge of consciousness, asleep, but only just. Through the haze of his coming awareness, he perceived the throbbing in his leg, but even so, a contented smile lifted his lips, the pleasant fragrance of the lavender easing the effects of the hole in his flesh. The aroma brought with it an image. A picture that had haunted him throughout the night, invading his dreams, disturbing his rest.

Once again, the lovely form of Mary Travis appeared before him, smiling, gentle, caring. A temptation like none he'd experienced in a great long while.

She hovered close, standing over him. Her tender smile absent from the smoky eyes that intently traveled his face, an uncharacteristic hunger clouding them. Her hair was loose, lying over one shoulder, catching the morning light-golden silk beckoning his touch.

A single step brought her closer and, as before in this persistent illusion, the proximity made him painfully aware of the delicate, white nightgown she wore and the beautiful, supple body it did little to conceal. Slowly, his eyes devoured the generous curves that stoked his aching need. Full breasts, peaked with dusky arousal, narrowed to a slim waist which gently flared to softly rounded hips. Long, shapely legs flowed from those hips, and at their juncture a mass of dark blonde curls guarded that which his body craved to possess. The leisurely pace continued as his gaze traveled back up her inviting form, coming to rest on her angelic face. Her gentle smile widened slightly just before she moved. Mesmerized, he watch her lift a slender hand to the small bow at the neck of the gown and give a short tug-

"Chris?"

The voice was little more than a whisper, but it sounded different this time. It was Mary's, to be sure, but something was missing. There was no heated desire, no desperate want thickening the utterance of his name. Instead, the tone was more like that of the Mary Travis who published The Clarion News, or was the proper community leader. And as the recognition hit him, a shard of disappointment pierced his foggy mind.

"Chris?… Please?" The words were little harder this time, a little more insistent.

No, this wasn't the hushed, passion-filled voice that had haunted his previous dreams, and a dejected frown knitted his brow as he felt himself pulled further into reality, the luscious image before him an abrupt memory.

"Mister Larabee?"

The groan that passed his lips was the result of several things. Pain and irritation had _something_ to do with it, but frustration had _everything_ to do with it. This time the fantasy would remain unfinished, and Chris's whole essence balked at the realization. He would have to get his release another time even as his body strained for fulfillment, _immediate_ fulfillment.

"Chris, are you all right?" Now, the voice held a strong note of concern. "Please wake up."

_Fulfillment… Mary…? _The words shot through his brain as his eyes sprang open.

It took him several seconds to adjust to the sudden pull from semi-consciousness. He was awake all right, but still groggy. Quietly, he endeavored to gain his bearings. When he finally managed it, he was immensely relieved to find he was lying on his side with his back to his visitor, making it impossible for her to notice the frustrated state of his body at the particular moment.

_Thank you, lord!_ The praise filled his head as he labored to try and relax enough to turn over. Beneath the cover, he was naked as a jaybird and hard as a rock. Facing Mary right now with any appearance of normalcy was _not_ a possibility.

But he quickly discovered he needn't worry about it for too long. Now that he was awake, the throb in his leg swiftly gathered strength, taking some of the fire out of his rigid groin. Thankfully, the pain detracted from his arousal, and he felt himself begin to soften. He all but welcomed the discomfort as it came to his rescue.

"Mister Larabee? Chris, are you awake? Are you all right?" The concerned voice moved closer.

"Yes." He blurted out the response more forcefully than he'd intended, the strain of the awkward situation getting the better of him. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in an effort to gather his composure. "Yes, I'm awake. And I'm okay, Miz Travis."

_There…that's better._ Silently, he congratulated himself on his success, although he could still hear a spark of anger heating the words. _What the hell is she doin' here, anyway?_

As if reading his mind, Mary provided an answer to his silent question. "I…I'm so sorry I've disturbed you, but before Nathan rode out to the Connor place, I assured him I would see to it that you got something to eat this morning." The hesitant voice was touched with an audible relief as she continued to explain her intrusion. "You haven't had anything since you were hurt. It's been more than a day, and he's a little concerned. We…he doesn't want you to get too weak."

Chris opened his eyes and stared at the blank wall in front of him. Food? _Food?_ The _last_ thing on his mind at the moment was food. He didn't want any damn food. He wanted…

Squeezing him eyes shut once again, he did his best to strangle that train of thought before his mind reversed all of the progress the pain in his leg had achieved. Control. All he needed was a little control.

_For God's sake, Larabee, _Chris quietly berated himself, _get hold of yourself, man. You're actin' like a witless, young colt._

A few more seconds ticked by before Chris found it in himself to face the innocent Samaritan standing behind him. He stared at the wall while assembling his scattered composure and then moved. He rolled over on his back to find Mary Travis hovering next to the bed, breakfast tray in hand, a sheepish grin on her pink-tinged face. It was suddenly obvious that she was as uncomfortable with the circumstance as he was, and he wrestled his impatience to the ground, stifling it for the moment.

Pushing a half-hearted smile to his lips in an effort to ease her mind, Larabee pulled himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard of the bed. The biting pain in his leg was ignored as he fibbed. "Food sounds good, Mary. Thank you."

_But whiskey sounds even better, _he couldn't help adding to himself. Damn, he could use a good shot right about now.

He was pleased to see some of the tension leave Mary's expression, her smile becoming more genuine when she heard his gratitude. "I'm glad to hear it. Now let's see…." Her eyes darted around the room, searching. "I don't want to put this on your bad leg." Her gaze settled on the bedside table. "You shouldn't need this for a little while."

Balancing the tray on one hand, she took the lantern from the small table and gingerly slid Chris's breakfast into its place. The lamp was then carefully moved to the dresser on the opposite wall. With eyes fixed on the meal, she made her way back to the bedside, a serious determination etched on her face. Picking up the napkin that rested next to the plate, she turned to Chris, as if to tuck the white linen into his non-existent shirt.

A mischievous smirk lifted Larabee's mouth when he saw her stop short, eyes wide, as she seemed to become aware of his state of undress for the first time since entering the room. That lovely shade of pink grew a little darker, and Chris felt the familiar pull in his gut as his body reacted to her beauty, the need once again making itself known.

He expected modesty to overtake her, causing her eyes to drop from his naked torso and sparing him the unsettling scrutiny. But to his utter surprise, it didn't. Instead, he saw a blatant curiosity shadow the reserved expression on her face, the bold interest quietly feeding the nagging hunger he had yet to get completely under control. Fascinated, he watched her slow inspection of him. As if mesmerized, Mary leisurely explored the expanse of Chris's shoulders. Her attention then moved to an upper arm, where it rested for a moment before traveling to his chest.

Her gaze remained fixed there for several long seconds, and Larabee felt another hard tug on his desire as the widow's mouth opened slightly and her tongue unconsciously glided across her bottom lip. The sultry action drew Chris's gaze back to Mary's eyes, and what he saw there amazed him. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was his own need clouding his perception. He couldn't be altogether sure. In fact, where Mary Travis was concerned, he couldn't be altogether sure about _anything_ anymore. But he couldn't shake the impression that the smoky, blue eyes that were trained on his chest were filled with the same intense craving that wracked his body and muddled his mind.

The possibility excited him as much as it astounded him. The knowledge that she might desire him in the same way he desired her had never really occurred to him before this very moment. He'd been convinced that the need was, and would always remain, one sided. A woman like Mary Travis would never look at a hardened gunman like himself in any other light, would never think of him in any tender way. Because of his relationship with her son and his place in the community, they could be friends, but nothing more.

Nevertheless, as he looked into the searing gaze of the beauty standing over him, he was forced to rethink that belief. The idea that she could hold softer feelings for him lightened his heart and brought a comforting relief to his mind. He couldn't quiet understand it, but, as with her care and concern, he was grateful for it.

But there was fear too. There would _always_ be fear. Because, deep down, he knew he was no good for her, that he needed to keep his distance, hover on the outskirts of her life. Knowing that she felt for him as he did for her would only make that more difficult. _Damn near impossible!_ And if he let himself get too close, he was certain he would only cause her misery.

'_When are you two gonna give it up and admit how you feel about each other?' _

Buck's words from the day before echoed in Chris's head. Larabee knew that his feelings for the widow had been growing almost from the first time he'd set eyes on her. He'd been fighting it, but he'd been losing. No matter what he tried to do to curb the tender emotions, Mary and her son had become more and more precious to him every day. He wasn't prepared to admit to himself that he loved them, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he wouldn't have much choice. Even now, the denial seemed silly.

'…_admit how you feel about each other?'_ The last part of the question echoed again. _'…feel about each other?'_

Could he allow himself to believe that Mary cared for him as Buck insinuated? The desire had become suddenly obvious, but was there more? He couldn't be sure. And he wasn't convinced he wanted to be, certain that either yes or no would more than likely prove devastating.

As Chris silently wrestled with the possibilities and conflicting emotions, his eyes remained on Mary's face, _her_ eyes still intent on his body. Her focus moved slowly down his chest to his waist, and as she admired that particular part of him, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, seemingly completely oblivious to his observance of her hungry inspection.

Her need was contagious, and Chris felt his body continue to react to it even as he fought to squelch it, his hardness beginning to make itself known underneath the flimsy cotton that covered him.

Every fiber in Chris's body screamed for him to reach up and pull the willing woman down into the bed with him and take her. The desire to bury his aching body as deep as it would go inside hers was a consuming heat threatening to sap what little control he had left. How he resisted the passionate impulse, he didn't know. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her. But the sudden thought of Buck or Vin or Nathan walking in on them was enough to help him beat back the violent urge, his mind clearing somewhat with the disturbing image.

If Mary's eyes traveled lower, Chris knew she wouldn't fail to notice the aroused state of his body. So, in an effort to spare them both the embarrassment, he finally found his faltering voice. "The food sure smells good, Mary."

The sound seemed to pull the widow out of her trance, and she blinked. Her eyes shot up to meet Chris's as the subtle pink in her cheeks deepened to a bright red.

In order to try to normalize the growing awkwardness of the situation, Chris pretended to be unaware of Mary's intimate examination, his eyes moving to the tray sitting on the bedside table. "Thanks for bringing it. I didn't realize just how hungry I was until now."

The irony of the last statement wasn't lost on him, but he refused to dwell on it. Instead, he turned his attention back to Mary, pushing a smile to his lips. It seemed to relax her, and he watched with satisfaction as the blush began to leave her cheeks. "But you didn't need to go to all that trouble."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all, Chris." Mary tentatively returned his smile as she held out the napkin to him, obviously taking care not to let her eyes leave his face. "Nathan's right. You need to keep your strength up so you can heal."

"All right." Chris continued to smile as he nodded and took the napkin. "Guess I can't fight both of ya. I'll eat my breakfast like a good boy, ma'am." His attempt at lightening the situation further seemed to work as he watched Mary's guarded expression soften.

"See that you do. Well," she glanced at the tray and then back at Chris, again concentrating on his face, but avoiding his eyes. "I won't keep you from it any longer. If Nathan isn't back by lunchtime, I'll bring you something and take the breakfast tray. Good morning, Mister Larabee." With a stiff nod, Mary turned and left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Chris relaxed his tense body back against the headboard, a deep sigh passing his lips.

_Damn, that was too close. _

Looking over at the food, he decided he was going to have to heal quickly so he could get the hell out of bed. Because, he couldn't take too many more visits like this one, not and keep his sanity.

End Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Again…again she stood over him, tempting him, torturing him. Lovely, soft, inviting. Every man's desire. And as he acknowledged her effect, his body began to ache, a hot need crawling through him. The nearly transparent nightgown served only as a foggy window to the delights he so desperately craved to touch, taste. She took his breath away, made him ache deep inside, his hunger for her a physical entity that permeated his entire being.

A step closer, a tender smile. Her body called to him while her eyes told him of her need, a need as unrelenting as his own. Slowly, she lifted a small hand to the bow at the neck of the gown and gave a short tug. The confining material around her creamy throat loosened and separated, her smile widening as her hands went to the edges of the garment and began to gently pull the material off her delicate shoulders.

"Hey, Chris!" Buck's intruding voice boomed from somewhere off in the distance.

A moan of frustrated disappointment passed Larabee's lips as the conscious world came flooding in and, once again, Mary's delicious form dissolved from view.

"Chris?" Again Buck's voice assaulted Chris' ears, only now it seemed closer, _too_close. "Chris, you awake?"

The unmistakable amusement Larabee heard in his friend's voice didn't do much for his already sour disposition. He wasn't even fully awake yet, and already Chris knew he was in a bad mood. Although his leg wasn't giving him nearly as much trouble as it had five days ago, his frustrated body was proving to be more than Larabee could tolerate, his dream of Mary Travis coming back every morning to torture him. As before, the precious visitation did little else but stoke a need he knew he could never fulfill.

"Damn, Buck," the rebuke left Chris in the form of a quiet groan as he turned over to lay on his back, his eyes still closed. No matter what Nathan said after today's examination, Larabee _was_ getting out of bed. In fact, he was getting out of town, for a little while at least. All this hovering was driving him up a wall. Nathan, Buck, JD, even Vin on occasion… but most especially Mary Travis, they all seemed compelled to try to see to the gunman's needs, even if he really didn't have any. It _was_ appreciated. Friendship would _always_ be appreciated, but he needed his space. The gunslinger had to have some time alone, time away… away from…

"Shit," Chris cursed again, opening his eyes to dislodge the tempting picture when Mary Travis' gentle face appeared before him.

With his sights fixed on an unseen spot on the ceiling, Larabee searched for an explanation. He'd never had _this_ much trouble before, _never_ been so haunted by the widow's presence. Hell, he knew he'd been in danger of losing his heart for a long time now, but he'd been able to control the unwanted preoccupation. That is, until now. What had changed?

_Nothing, damn it. Nothing has changed._ The unyielding determination ran through his head as he tried to convince himself he was still in command of his emotions, that Mary's resent closeness had not affected him. An obstinate purpose held him fast as he silently insisted her kindness, coupled with her gentle beauty, had not gouged huge cracks in the wall he'd skillfully built around his heart. _He_ had the upper hand in this…situation. His will remained strong. He knew what he had to do. But….

"Oh, hell." Larabee's eyes closed against the flicker of weakness, inevitability sending a subtle finger of…fear up his spine.

The wall was in danger, grave danger. Mary's presence had seen to that. Her entrance into his life had started an unrelenting assault on the barricade almost from the first, weathering the barrier, producing small fissures that over time had widened, destabilizing the once impenetrable structure.

A resigned sigh passed Chris's lips, his attention once again focused on the ceiling. No…nothing had changed. He was still fighting and he was still losing. Mary's gentle company had him longing for possibilities he hadn't considered for years, stirred feelings he thought long dead. The battle he waged against those possibilities and feelings was becoming too much for him to maintain, even as he insisted to himself that it was necessary for Mary's and Billy's safety. The revitalization of his wants and needs was slowly getting the better of him, and his resolve slipped away little by little with each passing day.

Chris's attention traveled to the door as he heard Buck making his was down the hall. No, unfortunately, nothing had changed. Nothing but the passage of time and the deterioration of his will. His waning strength and festering desire were sapping his control, and he had to find some way of stopping it.

"Hey Chris, you awake?" Buck Wilmington pushed his way into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Yeah, Buck, I'm awake." Chris didn't try to hide his irritation as he pulled himself up in the bed, the ache in his leg making itself known, subdued but still there. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight in the morning. You plannin' on sleepin' all day?" Buck smiled, seeming to ignore his friend's annoyed stare.

"No, Buck. I ain't gonna sleep all day." Chris shook his head as he pulled back the covers and slowly swung his long-john clad legs over the side of the bed. "As a matter of fact, I'm gonna ride out to the cabin."

"Now wait just a minute, pard." Wilmington's smile vanished as he took a step farther into the room. "Nathan needs to okay somethin' like that. I don't think you can sit a horse yet without openin' that leg up."

Anger bristled along Chris' backbone as he stood up. Nobody was going to tell him he couldn't leave town, even if they were only looking out for his best interests. He couldn't stay here any longer. He hadto get away. He _had_ to. Dismissing his painful leg, he reached for his pants.

"I appreciate Nathan's help, Buck, but I don't need him tellin' me when I can ride a horse. It's been five days. I'm healin' fine." Sitting back on the bed, Chris began to gingerly pull the black pants over his legs.

"Why do you have to leave town? You did a fair amount of walkin' yesterday. Why not just keep takin' it slow?" Buck took a few more steps closer to the bed, standing over Chris with a dark frown furrowing his brow. Hands on his hips, the younger man continued to scold. "You get out there all by yourself and you could get into trouble if you open that wound up again."

Standing once again, Chris scooped up his belt and started running the black leather through the loops on his pants. "No need to worry about me, Buck. I'll be fine."

"Stop bein' so stubborn, Chris. You need a few more days to heal. Hell, at least let Nathan take a look at you before you head out."

Just as Buck finished his plea, his and Chris's attention was drawn to the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and by the sound of the voices accompanying them, Nathan and Mary Travis were on their way to see Chris.

Mary's voice had Chris frozen in place, his body tensing against the sound, as if preparing him for some unavoidable physical blow.

"Looks like you're gonna have to get by Nathan after all." The satisfaction in Buck's voice reflected in his smile as he turned back to his friend. "And I wouldn't be surprised if Miz Travis put in her two cents too."

Wilmington's smug comments pulled Chris from his stupor. Reaching for his shirt, the gunman pulled it on and began to button it up just as a knock came from the door.

"Come in." Larabee invited his guests to enter and started the process of tucking in his shirt.

As the door opened, Chris turned to grab up his socks and boots. Making his way back to the bed, he sat down and began to dress his feet. Keeping his attention on the task at hand, he refused to look up when Nathan and Mary walked into the room.

However, not looking at her didn't mean he wasn't aware of her presence. The pleasing scent of lavender wafted passed Larabee's nostrils, and he silently cursed his body's instant reaction to the familiar aroma, the desire it conjured. Yes, he had to leave. He needed time to get himself back under some semblance of control.

"Chris, what do you think you're doin'?" Nathan's question was filled with a startled confusion.

Larabee hid a grimace of pain as he pulled on his right boot. Standing once again, he looked over at the former slave, matter-of-fact resolve on his face and in his voice. "I'm gettin' ready to ride outta town. Goin' to go to the cabin for a few days."

"Now look here, Chris. I'm not sure that's such a good idea. That wound is still fairly fresh. Maybe you should give it another day or two before you try gettin' on a horse." Nathan walked farther into the room, placing the breakfast tray he carried down on the bed.

"I'm fine, Nathan." Chris allowed the shadow of a smile to touch his mouth as he reassured his friend. "Thanks to you, the leg is healin' good. It shouldn't give me much trouble."

Casting disapproving eyes in Larabee's direction, Nathan shook his head, a begrudging acceptance in his voice. "At least let me change the bandage before you leave."

Reaching for his saddle bags, Chris continued to be obstinate. "I can do it, Nathan. Just give me the things I'll need. I'll change it when I get out to the cabin."

"Please, Chris. Please let Nathan look at your wound before you go." Mary's soft, pleading tone interrupted the conversation, hitting Larabee square in the gut, all at once stealing his fortitude, draining his purpose.

It had taken all the strength he processed not to look at her. Since she'd entered the room, he'd been determined not to look at her, not to see her, fearful that the sight of her would somehow be his undoing. But the dark concern he heard in her voice at last drew his eyes to her beautiful face, the anxious pain he witnessed there nearly pulling a sympathetic groan from him.

Clenching his teeth, Chris fought the sudden urge to reach out to her, to tell her not to worry about him, to comfort her, to relieve her anguish. He, after all, was the cause of it. As much as that one simple fact continued to astound him, he was becoming more accepting of it. Mary Travis cared very much about what happened to him.

Larabee's hold tightened on the leather in his hand, the need to calm Mary's trepidation overtaking him.

"_No, damn it all to hell!"_ The angry rebuke boomed in Chris's head as he fought her gentling affect on him. He wanted to brush her aside. He wanted to coldly tell her to mind her own business, to snidely inform her that he didn't want or need her concern. God, how he wished he could, but….

Chris's eyes met Mary's and he felt the self-preserving rage fade away. Silently, she beseeched him to grant her request, and contrary to everything he knew he should say Larabee heard himself give in to her tender plea. "All right…Mary."

Pulling his attention away from the lovely widow, Larabee addressed Nathan. "Well, let's get to it. I've got to get started soon. Do what you need to do, healer."

End Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

A word of warning – This hasn't been betaed. I'm sure there are tons of mistakes, so read at your own risk. And if you do bother reading, thanks much!

Chapter 4

The wood gave way under the sharp axe blade, the power of Chris's swing easily splitting the log in two. He reached down and grabbed another piece, placed it on the tree stump and swung again, relishing the tug on his sluggish muscles as he worked. After nearly a week of bed rest, he was grateful for the distraction…and the solitude. Although he still had a little healing to do, the ache in his leg was all but gone, and he'd spent the last two days catching up on some long-overdue chores.

He swung the axe again, embedding the blade into the tree stump, and yanked the blue bandanna from the back pocket of his black pants. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he scrutinized the pile of wood. It would be enough to get him by for a while. It was early April. The nights and mornings were still on the cold side, but the days were beginning to warm up. Soon, he would only need the wood for cooking. He shoved the bandanna back into his pants. Now he just had to stack it all on the porch.

He glanced up at the sun. Almost noon. He'd only had a couple cups of coffee for breakfast. He was hungry. The wood would wait until after lunch.

As he turned to walk back to the cabin, he heard the approach of a horse…wheels. A buckboard? He looked over his shoulder to see just that making its way toward him.

Chris knew if he didn't head back into town in the next day or two, Nathan would be riding out to see him. The former-slave wouldn't wait much longer before insisting on examining Chris's leg and making sure it was healing properly. Although, he'd brought bandage supplies with him when he left Four Corners three days ago, Larabee had gotten the impression that the healer didn't quite trust his ability to look after his injury. Until Nathan got to see the wound again with his own eyes, he wouldn't be satisfied.

But as the buckboard got closer, it became very clear that it wasn't Nathan driving it.

_Mary? Damn! _

Chris's gaze fell to the ground as his gut tightened. She'd tormented him his first night back at the cabin, but for the last two days, he'd successfully kept her from his thoughts and dreams. It had been the most restful sleep he'd gotten since the shooting. The time away had done him good.

He lifted his sights back to the approaching widow, his jaw clenching against the enticing sight. But apparently it hadn't been enough time. _Was_ there enough time? In the day, in the week, in the year?

_Get hold of yourself, Larabee. Shake it off. You can control this._

Taking a deep breath, Chris did his best to summon his debilitated defenses. She shouldn't be out here. He didn't want her out here. She was intruding on his privacy. Poking her nose in where it didn't belong. Larabee grasped at the anger, desperate for it to shield him from her unrelenting influence, but it was a meager barrier, the paltry irritation he managed nothing compared to what it should be. The wall around his heart crumbled a little more, his efforts to rebuild it pathetically inadequate.

Chris pursed his lips in frustration.

_You really are a weak bastard, aren't you? If you truly care about her, you'll show some guts, some spine. The hole in your leg. Remember? You got shot. You'll get shot again. Or maybe next time, she'll get shot instead of you. _

A genuine anger flared to life, and Chris embraced it, determined fists forming at his sides. He wasn't weak. Neither Mary nor Billy would suffer because of him. He _would_ begin repairing the wall. He _would_ bury his unwavering affection. He didn't have a choice.

Renewed resolve flowed through Chris as Mary pulled the buckboard to a stop a few feet from the pile of wood.

"Good afternoon, Mister Larabee." The widow wrapped the reins around the break handle and proceeded to get down from the wagon. Before Chris could get to her to give her a hand, she was on the ground.

"Miz Travis." Larabee gave a slight bow of his head as he stopped, standing next to the wood pile. "Didn't expect to see you out this way. Is everything okay?" The possibility of trouble in town suddenly hit him.

A scowl tightened his features as he took an urgent step closer to Mary. Silently, he waited for her reply, but one wasn't forthcoming. His frown deepened, and he searched her face for some indication of an answer. It was almost as though she hadn't heard him. She seemed oddly distracted somehow, her gaze centered on his shoulders before trailing down his chest.

He looked down at himself. He knew he was dirty, but he didn't think he was too—

_Shit._

He wasn't too dirty. He was too naked.

He looked to his left, then to his right and spotted his shirt lying across some of the wood he'd cut. He reached over and snatched it up. Pushing his arms into the sleeves, he dared a look in Mary's direction. With her lower lip caught between her teeth, her gaze met his. A smoldering hunger stared back at him, the same hunger he'd witnessed the morning she'd brought him breakfast-brilliant, compelling.

An answering need rose quickly, Chris's body tightening as the desire darted over him.

_No! Hell, no!_

He dropped his sights to concentrate on the ground while he buttoned his shirt.

"Yes…yes, everything's fine…ah..." Mary's voice faltered a moment. "I…ah...had to come out this way, so I…I thought- I thought I'd stop by to look in on you. To…see how you're doing."

"I'm good. Doin' fine. Leg's feelin' much better." Chris lifted his head, his attention gravitating back to Mary. He pushed a subtle smile to his lips, awkwardness still thick between them.

Mary avoided looking directly at him, the pink on her lovely cheeks bright as she nodded. "Yes, I can see you're…you've been getting some work done." She raised a hand to indicate the fire wood. "I hope you haven't been overdoing it."

"Nope. My leg's almost healed. The work isn't botherin' it." The concern in her voice tugged at his heart, but he pushed back against the dangerous reaction. "So, you can tell Nathan he can stop worryin'. I'll stop in to see him when I get back into town." Chris took a step forward in an effort to shepard Mary back to the buckboard and send her on her way.

The breeze shifted only slightly, but it was enough. It was too much. The delicate hint of lavender slammed into his senses, a scented kick to his gut, a perfumed assault on his control. Clenching his teeth, he struggled against the gentle attack.

"Thanks for comin' out, Miz Travis. Let the boys know I'll be headin' back to town in another day or so." Chris put a determined hand on Mary's elbow as he began to steer her back toward the wagon.

"I almost forgot." Mary pulled her arm from Chris's grasp and walked to the buckboard. She lifted a covered pot from the floorboard and turned back around. "I brought you some stew and an apple pie. There should be enough here for a few meals. If you don't get tired of it, that is."

The gracious smile on Mary's face drew a defeated sigh from Chris. Okay, stew. Apple pie. Okay. He returned her smile, accepting as the fates seemed to be working against him. "I could never get tired of your stew, Mary. Let me have that." He took the iron pot from her. "Grab the pie."

With a cheerful nod, Mary obeyed, and they made their way to the cabin. Chris opened the door and indicated the kitchen table. The stew and the pie were placed on it before Larabee picked up a bucket from the corner of the room. "Now, get yourself a drink and sit here and rest a minute while I go water your horse. He'll need it before the ride back into town."

Chris worked the pump. The water filled the bucket quickly, and he made his way over to the gelding harnessed to the buckboard. Larabee lifted the bucket up to the horse's mouth and allowed the animal to drink as he continued to grapple with the situation. "I'm tryin', boy. Believe me, I'm tryin'." He confessed to the horse, for all the good it did him.

She looked lovely today. Nothing new. The blue flowered dress brought out the color of her eyes. She wore her hair loose, the golden strands falling to her shoulders, catching the sun; delicate silk beckoning his touch.

His grip tightened on the bucket. _No touching, damn it. You need to sit her pretty little behind in the buckboard and point her towards town._

With the horse watered and ready for his trip back to Four Corners, Chris walked to the cabin, Mary's immediate departure uppermost in his mind.

He entered the small building to find a plate, spoon and fork neatly placed at the end of the table, and Mary at the stove.

"I thought I'd heat some of this up for you before I left." The widow said over her shoulder as she stirred the stew.

The picture she presented overwhelmed him, a stubborn need heating his blood while a painful sorrow crept into his mind. She stood in his home fixing him dinner. Innocent enough; a simple fantasy he would never tire of reliving; a longed-for reality he could never allow for.

"No!" The denial shot from Chris as he wrestled with the perilous want rushing through him, his puny resolve suddenly all but gone. He couldn't take it anymore, anger coming to his aid as he stalked to the stove and yanked the still-cool pot from the hot burner. "You have to go. Now."

Visibly startled, Mary retreated a few steps, her eyes large with shock and confusion. "I didn't mean… I only wanted to… I…I...shouldn't have...come. I'm..." Her eyes fell to the floor as her voice seemed to fail her, the crack of tears barely audible before the silence.

The sound sucked the rage right out of Chris, a deep breath leaving him as he started to try and clear the air. "Mary, I..."

"I'm...sorry, Chris." The quick apology interrupted him and kept him riveted with surprise until she continued, as if on a mission to explain herself. "It's just...well, I had to know. I had to make sure. You're still hurt. You shouldn't be out here by yourself. I had to be certain. Steven was...killed three years ago yesterday and... after visiting his grave this morning I just... I...had to see for myself. It was silly, I suppose. But…I…had to know that you were all right. I _had_ to."

The tortured eyes that sought Chris's face begged for his understanding, his patience. The widow's raw pain, her palpable fear, reached out and grabbed him, shaking him to his core. It tore at his gut and hammered at his heart.

"This was a terrible mistake." The quiet declaration left Mary as she seemed to misread the anguished expression on Chris's face. "I'll go."

She placed the spoon on the stove before heading for the door, but only took two steps before Chris caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "No, Mary."

Staring down at her bent head, Chris willed her to look at him, to forgive him. Agony tightened his throat and worked the muscles in his jaw. He couldn't let her leave. Not like this.

Tears shimmered in the smoky eyes that finally rose to meet his, and behind the moisture, the pain and fear lingered. "I had to know, Chris. I just had to know."

With the whispered confession, the last vestiges of Chris's purpose vanished, the need to console her taking over, guilt over his harsh action driving him to calm her fear. When he pulled her into his arms, his only thought was to comfort. But before he knew what was happening, the sympathetic lips he touched to her temple slowly moved to caress her satin cheek, eventually finding the luscious treasure of her supple mouth-warm, willing.

The kiss was hesitant at first, a faint voice of concern beating in the back of his mind. Although he didn't seem to be able to stop himself, Chris nonetheless knew what he was doing was wrong, and he had no wish to frighten her.

The light contact was a test of sorts, a question. One she answered decidedly, passionately. Increasing the pressure, Mary slipped her arms around Chris's neck, fingers threading through his hair, eager. Encouraged by her response, Larabee pulled her closer, the contact of her slender body heightening his need. Greedy for her, he deepened the kiss, tasting, coaxing. With a low moan, she opened for him, accepting of his hunger, demonstrating some of her own.

Chris slid his hands around Mary's waist and up her back, pulling her tighter as he cradled her head, her hair as silky as he'd dreamed it would be. Unable to get enough, he gorged himself on her tender mouth, lost in her heavenly sweetness. Light pressure on his chest finally brought him down to earth when he realized Mary was pushing him away.

Regret pummeled his thoughts as he dropped his hands from her hair and stepped back. He'd been too aggressive, gone too far. "Mary, I...I'm sorry. I...I shouldn't have-"

A soft finger pressed to his lips silenced Larabee's awkward apology. Shaking her head, Mary took a deep breath. "I needed a little air." Leaning forward, she boldly rested the length of her beautiful body against Chris's, and he felt the fire in his groin leap higher as it threatened to completely engulf him. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

"It's all right, Chris." Mary's inviting mouth hovered just under his as she lifted her face with the gentle reassurance, an unmistakable offering he found impossible to ignore. A tender hand reached up and silky fingers caressed his cheek. "Please."

The simple word was little more than a breathless whisper, but the strength of its affect was immeasurable as the unspoken request stripped from Chris what meager control he had left, the passionate need burning in her eyes adding fuel to the raw desire that held him prisoner. He had no other ambition but to give her what she wanted; to take what he craved with every muscle in his body, with every thought in his head.

End Chapter 4


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